Mary Alice To Alice
by Blonde Gingernut
Summary: What I imagine Alice's life before, in & just after being in the asylum. In Alice's POV, will include Jasper, obv. & James. R&R! Steph Meyer owns all, k? Thankyou! x
1. Oddities

**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, or anything of the series/films. I own nothing, okay?! Did you really have to bring it up?! xDD**

**Chapter One**

I could feel the warm sunshine on my skin. I could feel the cool breeze brush against me, dragging the dry, beach grass along with it, pushing the strands over then leaping over them. I could hear the sea lapping against the sand, the seagulls cawing as they searched for food. And though I was sitting with my eyes closed, streets away from home, I could see my little sister, Cynthia. She was at home, helping Mother with the chores. But I knew it wasn't today. Tomorrow, she would be washing the dirty dishes, and she would slice her finger on a sharp, carving knife. Just a small cut, but it would bleed, and she would cry her eyes out for hours at the shock. I'd tell Mother to take all sharp objects out before filling the basin, before letting Cynthia wash them. The future moulded to my plans, just as it normally did. Unsurprisingly, Cynthia still cut her finger, and Mother got angry at me. Of course, she would never listen, and that was _her_ fault, not mine. I only wanted to look after them, and if I had help to do so, I'd take it, and I wouldn't be quiet about it.

I opened my eyes, and realized with surprise that I was ashamed. Ashamed of myself, of my talent, of how I expected my family to accept it. Of course they shouldn't. I was a freak. Above – or worse than, below – the norm. My eyes watered when I thought of my parents; what they thought of me, what they intended to do with me. Not that I could see their thoughts, but I could see where their thoughts would lead. Infirmaries, mental institutes, anywhere but with them. They feared for Cynthia. _I_ feared for Cynthia. I feared for everyone, especially when I could see all the bad things that could and would happen to them. I could feel my eyes water; I didn't want this! I rubbed my eyes quickly, getting rid of the tears before they formed.

"Well, hello, Miss," Said a kind voice. I gasped, and turned to see a tall, gentleman standing before me. I gasped again, flustered and surprised. I didn't want to let anyone see me crying, especially not a handsome stranger like him. "Sorry to disturb you, Miss, I just thought you might need cheering up,"

"I'm fine, thank you," I said briskly, annoyed by his kindness. I looked away, and pretended to examine my sleeve.

"Alright then, good day to you," He said, and I waited to hear his footsteps on the sand as he left, but the sound never came. Curiosity got the best of me, and I looked around inconspicuously. And there he was, sitting about three metres away from me. He was looking away from me, in the opposite direction, so I took the time to inspect him. He was wearing a dark, tan suit, oddly enough, and I expected he was far too hot. But I suspected he was a proper gentleman, with a high paying, respectable job. I was gratified that he had taken his time to talk to me, however intruding he was. He had long, dirty blonde hair, which was tied away neatly at the nape of his neck and was covered by a grey trilby hat, shielding his face from the sunlight. He had black gloves on, meaning that there was no part of his skin exposed to the sunlight, but covered up by dark fabrics. I looked at his face, expecting him to have red blotches, some kind of skin affliction, or at least for him to be pale, and I was right; he was oh so pale, I would have believed him to be a corpse, had I not seen him move and talk. He caught me looking, and turned to face me. He had a strong, manly face; a broad nose, a square jaw, high cheekbones, but they weren't his most obvious, distinguishable features. His eyes were a frightening shade of red. I very nearly screamed in shock. Instead of being embarrassed, or annoyed, he gave me an easy smile, and stood up and walked toward me again.

I was half frightened, and half intrigued. I had never seen red eyes, as strange as I might be myself, at least my oddities didn't show.

"Do you have something wrong with your skin?" I asked, despite myself. I daren't ask about his intimidating eyes.

"In a way, yes," He laughed, as though at his own personal joke. "But I didn't expect that was what you wanted to ask me about," He said, raising his eyebrows. "May I sit?" He asked, nodding his head toward the space beside me. I shrugged, and patted the space. He sat down beside me, and took a deep breath, then smiled at me, like I was a meal. I decided I no longer wanted his company, but I was too polite to leave, or ask him to leave me. He wouldn't hurt me, not this respectable gentleman, not on this beach in daylight. Then again, respectable young ladies like myself did not speak to handsome young men, not alone. "I'm guessing you were wondering about my eyes?" He asked.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have-" I started, blushing.

"It's alright, Miss," He laughed. "They've always been like this, I get asked about them a lot. But then again, often, people see them, and don't ask me _anything_," He chuckled. I smiled, regaining confidence. He was just unfortunate, like me. Cursed with a skin condition and odd coloured eyes. People would be frightened of him, too. At least, I guessed they would be.

"And people are afraid of you because of that?" I asked.

"Yes… well, you are," He smiled ruefully, and inhaled deeply again.

"_Were_," I smiled back, "You don't scare me anymore, because I can see your just an ordinary person, with a few quirks, just like me." Actually, I felt a little kindred spirit toward him; we were both different, though of course, mine difference was probably more severe, more strange.

"Indeed? And what might your quirks be?" He seemed amused, as though he expected me to say something insignificant, a girl's self consciousness. I could just imagine his facial expression if I told him the truth. I shook my head, indicating I wouldn't tell him, and he smiled. "I'm going to have to guess? I would have to say that your quirks are your beauty… and your delicious scent; delicious enough to eat…" He inhaled once more, leaning closer to me, so his nose was only centimetres from my throat. I flinched away, scared again.

"I-I have to go, good day to you, sir." I said, gathering my skirt and standing up. "Thank you for your company." I walked away, back toward my home, shaking my head in wonder.

"It's okay, I'll get to taste you soon enough…" He laughed mischievously, waving a dismissive hand.

After hearing that, I ran, until I was far away from the strange man. I reached my street safely, so I paused, as I always did, to see if I could find out what would happen to me when I got in. Nothing came to me. Of course not. It wasn't mine to control, I was its. It chose what I saw, and when I saw it. I could be in the middle of prayers in the church, and find out that the minister would not be going home to his wife that night, but instead he would pay a visit to his wife's best friend, and stay the night, with false claims in the morning. I could be talking to Father, when I would see scenarios, from anywhere, any time in the world, that would make me break down into tears. They couldn't surprise me at Christmas, no matter if I wanted it to be a surprise or not. New inventions didn't shock me. I had seen televisions, electronic technology long before others even knew what it was. They still didn't know, it hadn't been invented.

Unknowing about the important things, I walked into my house, not suspecting a thing. As usual, Cynthia was playing with her dolls in the hallway, and she looked up when I walked past. "Do you have a fact for today, Mary?" She asked. Good old Cynthia; she didn't think I was a freak, this was just life to her.

"The Great War will end later this year," I sighed, as though describing the weather outside.

"Wow, that's wonderful," She said. "How can you tell?"

"I saw a room, with you, Father and Mother, all eating breakfast, listening to the radio, where they told you the date, and mentioned that it was the anniversary of the end of the Great War." I explained. She didn't question me, though she didn't know what a radio was. She must have reasoned that she would know one day.

She thought about it, though, "Weren't you there, Mary?" She asked thoughtfully.

"No," I said quickly, taking off my coat.

"Do you know why not?" She carried on with the questions, though_ she would know one day._

"I don't have a clue, Cynthia," I lied easily. "Now come on, do you want to go outside, play on the swings?"

"I'm thirteen, Mary," She said, trying to act grown up.

"If you're too old to play on the swings, I guess you're too old to play with dollies…" I said, bending over to pick them up.

"No! I'm not playing with them… I'm…" She bit her lip, thinking. "I was just making sure they were okay," She said, straightening her back, raising her chin. "And now I'm sure they are quite alright. Shall we go read?"

I laughed, and reached for her hand to pull her up. She grabbed the dolls, and threw them into what used to be our room, but was now only hers. Mother and Father had moved me out into my own room, for scaring her with visions. They did nothing to stop me from scaring myself. As we walked into the main room where Father would be, while Mother would be in the kitchen, I heard another voice in the house. Instead of bustling into the room, I hesitated outside, and listened in, like we used to do, before I 'grew up'. Cynthia stopped and listened too, casting gleeful expressions in my direction. I smiled back, but only halfheartedly.

"…Yes yes, I completely understand. You say she…" One voice said, but I couldn't hear all their words.

"…Exactly… dear Cynthia… _frightening_ her… not normal… if you could…"

"At once, sir. In fact, I do believe we have several spaces open where we could house-" The voices had been getting clearer, and I found out why as soon as the door I had been leaning on flew open, and I fell at the feet of my Father, Mother, and another gentleman I didn't know.

"It is funny," The unknown man said, in a nasally voice, "That Mary did not see _this_ happening." He stated, and I sat up. I hadn't seen this coming _now_, but I knew this man. And I knew this situation. "Miss Brandon," The man said warmly, though his intentions were cold. "Glad to be of acquaintance to you," He held out his hand when I stood up. I was ready to run, but I caught the look in my Mother's eye that held me still. It was the look you would give a stranger, like the look I had given that strange man today when we first met. Like I had intruded into her house, and destroyed her life. Like she was confused and afraid, and just wanted me to go away, whoever on God's earth I was.

"We're not acquaintances." I said coldly to the man.

He looked amused, like I was a little girl. So I'm short, but I'm no child. "Oh, the devil is deep in this one," He said, smiling, though my parents seemed even more horrified. "And she talks to you like this?" He addressed them. They nodded silently, still staring, eyes wide, mouths slack.

"All the time, Sir." My Mother supplied, which was an outright lie. I was always kind and loving toward them. I stared at her in betrayal, but the emotion didn't seem to get through to her. Her mind was set in a hard shell, deliberately keeping me out.

"Well, as I was saying…" The man started.

"Cynthia," My Mother said quickly and quietly, and my little sister stared at our hands, mine and hers still entwined. I hoped she would keep a hold of me, my dearest little relative, the little girl I only wanted to stay safe. I knew she wouldn't. It was a lost cause. She may have wanted to stay with me, but she couldn't, and she would never regret that. I didn't blame her. How could I? I watched her face carefully, as she stared at our hands significantly, and I knew she was remembering them. She bit on the side of her lip nervously, as though deciding. Then, with her free hand, she tucked a stray lock of chestnut brown hair behind her ear, then reached for the other side of her face. With my free hand, I caught it for her, and tucked it behind her ear, letting my fingers sweep across her face. I knew I wouldn't see her again. She looked up at me with large brown eyes, the same as Mother's, and I smiled sadly, trying to reassure her of something, anything, so long as she didn't cry, like I was. My hand lingered on her cheek, and I cupped her chin, remembering the face, if that was all I could have. "Cynthia!" My Mother screeched, her voice raw. She sounded like the situation was worse than Cynthia walking into a pit of wolves, or reaching for a bear hug with a real bear.

Of course, Cynthia dropped my hand immediately, and walked over to Mother, who put her hands over Cynthia's ears, trying to protect her mentally, stop her from hearing the truth, that me, her sister, was clinically insane. Everything she had grown up with, all the stories I told her were a lie, a sham, a cry for attention from the devil inside me, possessing me. It was then I saw the truth; by helping save Cynthia from a few physical cuts and scrapes, I had been hurting her mentally. Would she grow up, believing in a determined future, or live in fear of injury, because I wasn't there to protect her from it? What had I done to her mind?

"Eh-hem. Mr. and Mrs. Brandon, as I was saying, if you really are sure you want me to take Mary away-" The man started again, but was interrupted, again, by my Mother, who was almost hysterical.

"God, _yes_! Get her out of this house! _Now_!" She screamed, tears pouring down her cheeks. She thought she had given birth to a sin, and she was frightened. For herself, for my Father, for Cynthia, for her unborn child that would be dead within two months. She wondered if Cynthia or her unborn child would be taken from her, too. There was a chance she would never knowabout _either _child. Of course, the dead baby, nobody would know its fate, but the question I had told Father – who had told her – to fear was whether she would survive the miscarriage. This much was clear about her, and it was overwhelming.

I turned to the man, "Take me away, please! Give them peace," I said, tears streaming freely now. He seemed rather surprised, but seemed to agree with me.

"Alright. If I could get you to sign some forms, please, just to say-"

"Just get the girl out," Father said, tending to Mother. "Take her away from here! She's dead to us, so she's yours to do whatever! Kill her, exorcise her, anything! Just take her away!"

"Okay." The man seemed rather annoyed after being interrupted so many times, but he carried on with his job. He walked back into the main room, and opened a briefcase on the table. Then, he pulled out a bag and a white fabric object. Then he walked back over to us. "Okay, Mary," He said soothingly, like I would attack him. I suspected it was just standard routine for this sort of thing. That made me think of all the other people he might have dealt with, who else lay in wait for me. I could feel myself tremble in fear, but I didn't speak. "If you could just put your arms into these holes?" He opened the white fabric up to reveal it was a jacket with very long sleeves. I obliged woodenly, numbly, and slipped my arms through the scratchy material. "Good girl," He smiled reassuringly. I was still trembling. "Now, if you could just cross your arms like this-" He crossed his arms up - showing me what to do - so that his hands were resting on the opposite arm's shoulder. I did as he asked. He grabbed hold of the long sleeves at the ends, and did some complicated manoeuvres, twisting them behind my back, round my stomach, until there wasn't a lot of fabric left to work with. He buckled them with the buckle on one of the sleeves so they were behind my back, out of my reach. "Would you like a sedative?" He asked, though it wasn't my choice. He already had a needle out, and was already getting it set to inject me. I nodded weakly. "That's a clever girl." He sighed, and plunged the needle into my neck...

**Okay, thanks, first of all for reading! If anyone actually does… Lol. **

**If you want to review, or anything, feel free! (: & if you don't understand anything, same applies, or, email me, idm. Just tell me if you like it, okay? I need the reassurances to carry on :D **

**Thankyouu!**

**x **


	2. Fitting In

White. The room was white, and entirely empty, except from me. And another being. At the other side of the room entirely, sat another woman, curled up into a ball. My eyes, which had remained half open; still heavy from sleep, snapped wide open. I patted the ground around me to feel that it was soft, cushioned. I looked up again, confused. Then I remembered everything that had got me here. The visions, dreams of the future that always came true. I was in the asylum. As was the woman across from me. She had raised her head and was now watching me warily, like she expected me to attack her at any minute. Well, I _guess_ we were in a hospital for mentally ill people. I didn't meet her eyes; she was a stranger to me, and could be just as crazy as she thought I was. That said, without conversation, there was nothing to do. Especially not with her watching my every movement.

I looked away, trying to act like I didn't notice her staring, trying not to do anything to keep her attention. "You crazy, girl?" She asked me, eyeing me suspiciously. I thought about it for a long time; I didn't _feel_ crazy, I just had a few peculiarities, like I'd said to the gentleman on the beach. But how could I ever know? If I _was_ crazy, would I admit it? How crazy did she mean? Crazy, like I'd kill her in her sleep, or crazy that I'd talk to my five other personalities when she didn't talk? I decided I'd be tagged as delusional if I said I wasn't, so I nodded. Her large, dark eyes narrowed, but she didn't say anything.

"What are you called?" I asked quietly, determined to get along with the woman I would be sharing my living space with.

"Jocelyn." She said, though she still didn't relax, even a little. "You?"

"Mary Alice. Mary Alice Brandon." I said quietly.

Jocelyn scowled at me, her smooth, tanned forehead creasing so much I wondered if it was actually possible. "You're not Mary Alice Brandon. You'll be lucky if you're Mary _Alice_. In case you haven't realized, you're here because nobody, not even the _Brandons_, want anything to do with you. You're not one of them, not anymore."

"Thanks," I said bitterly. "Let me guess, you're different. Your family are coming to see you any day now, they're just too busy working to get you out of here?" I said, hurt by how blatant she could be.

"No," She said, smiling a little. "My parents are dead." She shook her head slowly, still smiling ruefully.

I gasped, suddenly sorry I'd been mean. "I'm so very sorry." I said genuinely.

She shrugged, "I killed them," I froze. "That's why I'm here."

"So… so you can…_kill…_ kill me, too?" I stammered, shaking. I was in a room with a killer. Not only a killer, but she had killed her family, the people who'd raised her, who she'd lived with.

She shook her head quickly, unemotionally. "I'm here because they don't believe me,"

"Why?" I croaked. "What happened?"

Her eyes flashed, in a way which meant she wasn't going to tell me, and she seemed to be trembling. "I won't hurt you. It was an accident. An unusual accident. Please, just don't aggravate me." She warned, and I nodded my head, afraid. "Know when we eat here?" She asked, changing the subject abruptly.

I shook my head, "I'm just new." I didn't know how long I'd been here, of course, who knows, she might have came here later than me.

"Damn." She swore. "I'm hungry as hell, I hope we get a _lot_ of food." She said, before wiping her nose on her wrist. She definitely wasn't like any woman I'd met before, in fact, she seemed more manly. None of the ladies I'd met swore like her. She had no manners, either. But I suppose, she _had_ killed people. Her _family,_ even.

"Do you know how long I've been here?" I asked.

She shook her head quickly, then started to chew her long, dark hair. Disgusting. I very nearly scolded her for it, as though she was Cynthia, but I stopped before the words had formed. Cynthia. Just thinking of her made my eyes water. It wasn't that bad thinking about my parents, I mean, I was terribly upset to not be with them, but our conflict had been one that raged for years. Not so much conflict as dislike; they feared me and my oddity, and wanted rid of me, didn't want to listen to my warnings. Cynthia was the only person I truly cared for in the world. My little sister. How would they explain to her what had happened to me? Would she care, as much as I cared? I hoped she wouldn't miss me. The thought of me hindering her life, even now, here, made my spine tingle unpleasantly. But then, so did the thought of me seeing her harmed in my mind, and being able to do nothing about it.

"Well, Mary… I don't want to seem rude," Jocelyn started, and I tried hard to keep the expression off my face, the one that would tell her she had already surpassed 'rude'. "But you don't seem crazy. _Why_ are you here?"

I considered telling her the truth, about how I could see things that would happen, but soon decided against it. I didn't want to be used as a tool, to watch over her future. Nor did I want her to kill me in my sleep for being insane. I shut my eyes for a second, wondering what affliction I could claim to have. "I'm just Mary, the Alice part is my other personality. She does things that people – like my parents – don't enjoy."

"Like what?" Jocelyn's mouth twisted up into a cruel smile, like she would gladly listen to my made-up horrors.

"I… I hurt… I ruined my little sister's life." That, in a way, was true.

"Oh," Her face fell. "I was hoping to get good ideas for pranks."

"_Pranks?!"_ I gasped, shocked. "Oh, no! We're here to get better, Jocelyn, not upset the people here." I said, and she snorted.

"Do you think I'm here to get better? Do you think I believe I'm insane?" She said. "No," her voice sounded final, but she carried on talking. "I may have done some nasty things, things that may not make sense to most people, but I came _here_ as a last resort, rather than prison, or being killed. And, while I'm here, I might as well have fun."

I scooted away a little, now _really_ afraid. She laughed a little, and then stood up, to inspect the room. "What if you need a leak?" She asked, turning to face me again.

"Pardon me?" I asked, shocked.

"Y'know, piss." She said, looking at me like I was stupid. "Use the lavatories. Go to the little girl's room. Relieve oneself. Whatever you want to call it."

"That wasn't a very ladylike way to put it," I grumbled. She gave me a wide grin, exposing perfect, straight white teeth. "And I don't know. Is there nobody outside to ask?"

She walked over to the heavy-looking, metal door, and peered out the tiny slit, exposing the outside world. She shook her head, then turned to face me again. "Nothing."

"Knock?" I suggested.

She inspected the door, then shook her head again. "It's too thin, I could bust a hole in it,"

I squinted at the door, then shrugged. Just then, Jocelyn leapt back from the door, snarling... in surprise?

I screamed, but it was quickly cut off when a very bored looking old nurse appeared in the doorway. "Food, and hygiene," She said, sounding like she was reading from a list. She yawned, just for added effect. "Come on!" She said, now sounding a little annoyed. We both walked toward the door, me numbly, Jocelyn calm, and the nurse, taking a large step away, ushered us out, like we were contagious. Jocelyn growled as she walked past the nurse, and the old lady became alert, suddenly leaping back. Then, she pulled something out of her apron pocket: a needle, with what I assumed to be tranquilizer.

"Jocelyn!" I squeaked, just as the nurse plunged it into her arm. She made a noise like she'd choked in surprise, but then looked at the needle still embedded in her arm. Though she was trembling, almost vibrating, she laughed sardonically and flicked the needle at the nurse, and walked away, with me trailing her.

"Thanks, Mary," She smiled grimly, though my warning had done no good. "You know that the nurses can do whatever they want here?" She looked back at me quickly as I shook my head. "Yeah, essentially, we're- hey, you don't know where the food is, do you?" She asked, looking around. I did the same, but I was _really_ wondering when she was going to collapse, when the tranquilizer would take effect. Then, she raised her face and sniffed the air. "That way," She said, pointing, before walking away at a large stride.

With my little legs, I had to run to keep up with her. I mean, I know I'm _short,_ but she was _taller_ than _tall_. "Here we are," She sighed, standing outside a plain, white door. Surprising. "Look, I may have only just met you, but I know we're friends, right?" She said, staring at me carefully, not yet opening the door. I nodded silently in confirmation. We _had_ to be friends, really. "Right, fabulous." She said, but her tone made it obvious it _wasn't_ 'fabulous'. "But, though we're friends, I don't want people to think we're…_ friends,_ in _that_ sort of way, okay? Things can turn nasty when you get that image about you,"

I stared at her blankly. "I'm sorry, I don't think I'm understanding you."

She raised her perfect, slim eyebrows in surprise, then one lowered, so she was looking at me sceptically. "You're _really_ that naïve?" She shook her head in disbelief. "Look, some crazys get lonely and desperate in here, and there aren't any men in this part of the hospital – which by the way, shows how well funded we are here – so some women will…" She made a gesture, as though to say 'you understand now?' but I needed her to say more, so I tried to show no emotion. "You get women who keep 'bitches', as it were…_ lovers_." Understanding dawned. I gasped, and covered my mouth in shock.

"You mean-?" I started, wide eyed, but she was nodding before I got anymore out.

"Okay, now we've got _that_ cleared up. Please, _please _tell me that's the _only 'grown up'_ stuff I need to explain to you?" She groaned.

I shrugged, disturbed by the idea of women loving each other. Not that they shouldn't find love somewhere - everyone needs love – but because it was simply against everything I'd ever heard of, or believed.

"Lovely." She said sourly. "But _later._ Like I said, I'm starved." She pushed open the doors, and I stepped into the new room. Thankfully, there was more going on in the room, unlike my empty, white room. There were things to look at. For example, there were tables covered in people and trays full of food. There was a long, white (Wow!) unit by the _white_ wall, and it was covered with sandwiches and bowls with ladles sticking out, and there was a nurse standing behind it, ready to serve food.

"Can we just go-?" I pointed toward the food table, then turned to look for Jocelyn, but she wasn't there anymore. "Jocelyn?" I said, turning full circle, panicking. She'd scared a nurse earlier. The nurse injected her. What if they'd gave her into trouble? She was the only person I knew, and she _had_ been very helpful to me, whether she was like me or not. Then, thankfully, I spotted her. Though I was relieved to see she was okay, I was a little upset, that she'd ditched me. There she was, sitting at one of the tables with a large group of other patients, laughing and talking. She commanded all attention, probably because she was the tallest, fiercest, most energetic person around. The other girls listened, whether they wanted to or not.

"Awh, _hey!_ New girl!" Someone yelled, and I turned, looking for the voice. They _had _to be talking about me. I was the only one still standing by the doorway, waiting to be accepted, but also afraid to be. "Heeeeere!" The same voice droned, and I looked over to see a curly mass of red hair, with a long, pale arm reaching up to wave at me.

I walked over hesitantly, reasoning that my feet hurt too much to stand there forever. There was a loud '_smack'_ noise, and I realized that the redhead that had called on me had been slapped by the woman next to her. "Shut _up_!" The woman screeched, and I backed away, confronted with _real_ insanity for the first time. The woman who hit the redhead broke down into tears, screaming and wailing for all she was worth. Another woman across the table, further down, broke into tears as well, smashing her fists on her tray. I backed away, until I was nearly running backwards.

"Bethy!" The redhead hissed, like she was embarrassed, then she stood up and walked toward me, raising her hands in apology.

I backed away, worried. I had no idea what was wrong with _her_, or _any _of them here. "Where are the nurses here?! Someone to watch everyone? What happens if someone gets hurt? Who'll stop them?!" I cried, searching around desperately. There was nobody but the nurse serving food, but I doubted she could defuse a situation if it got out of hand. I doubted she could do _anything_ other than serve food.

Redhead laughed. "It's _alright_. Bethy's all talk. There's nobody _really, really_ violent here."

"But- but… what about Jocelyn? She… she _killed_ her-"

"Jocelyn?" Redhead said, glowering, or at least, I _thought_ she was, but it was hard to tell, since she was wearing sunglasses. Just like that, Jocelyn appeared.

"Mary," She said angrily, glaring at the redhead. "Are you coming or not?" Her voice was level, yet menacing.

"I- I haven't _eaten_, yet…" I said miserably.

"I meant, are you coming to _our_ table?" She said, just when the redhead put her hand on my shoulder. I recoiled back, worried, but the hand remained. The movement was somehow possessive, and I didn't want _that_.

"She's coming to _my_ table," The redhead hissed through her teeth, not embarrassed this time, the sound was like an angry snake.

"I don't think Mary would enjoy the presence of _demons_." Jocelyn growled back. "Let her see your eyes, and let her decide," Jocelyn dared her. I looked up at the redheaded woman, curious suddenly. What _was_ wrong with her eyes? Was the room _too bright_ for her? And why had Jocelyn called her a demon? Was it her hair colour? Because really, I thought her hair was beautiful.

"You _know_ my situation, _bitch_." The redhead walked away, her hand slipping from my shoulder silently, in a lethargic motion. I considered their argument, and decided I didn't understand, yet again. I _had_ believed Jocelyn to be new here, but she seemed to know people upon sight. How had she made so many friends so easily, unless she already knew them? How had she known about the woman with red hair? I shook my head, deciding I didn't _care_. All manners, all sanity and reason was lost in the asylum, and I hoped that my ability to see that was because I had a tight grip on my own.

**Okay, first of all, I'm sorry if I offended anyone, like when Alice & Jocelyn talk about homosexuals... I wasn't meaning to offend, its just that Alice _really is_ that naive :P **

**Anyway, tell me what you think of the chapterrr (: I don't know if that's how asylums worked back then, but this is how I'm writing it. It's about vampires, it doesn't need to be precise, lol. However, I will try my best to be :D R&R? && Thanks, reviewers - Amata le Fay & Sabohan-Black. Lovee! x **

**I appreciate thoughts, suggestions, even critisizm, as long as it's fair, and not all caps. and mean :( lolol.**

**Lot's o'' loveeeeeeeeee **

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